The Chosen One
by kisslaughdream
Summary: What if Lord Voldemort had chosen Neville Longbottom, and NOT Harry Potter, as his equal?  How would the course of the story be changed?  How might their lives be different?


"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..._"

Neville threw down the Daily Prophet in disgust. He only just got his Hogwarts letter and already his name could not stay out of the newspapers.

_ "Neville Longbottom: __**The Boy Who Lived**_

_Neville Longbottom, age 11, is now of age to attend one of the most finest school of Witch Craft and Wizardry, Hogwarts. Although we have met Mr. Longbottom and his Grandmother, they have yet to comment on the tragedy that had befallen upon Frank and Alice Longbottom only 10 years ago._

_We all know that Frank and Alice gave their lives for their son, Neville, who has been the only person alive who has ever survived the Killing Curse. Just 1 years old at the time of his parents death, Neville can hardly recall any happy memories of his parents. When asked about them, Neville's eyes swam with the ghosts of his past as his Grandmother shuffled him away, saying they would not like to comment at this time._

_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may not be dead, but he may not be completely alive either. There is no proof that he is either dead nor alive . . . But only time will tell if You-Know-Who will rise back to power, and if he must, our only hope lies in an 11 year old boy, Neville Longbottom._

_Rita Skeeter, Reporter of the Daily Prophet."_

"Oh, dear, don't worry about that retched Rita Skeeter woman. She's a mad old woman that only writes lies." She picked up the paper, and tossed it out of sight. "Want some more tea?"

"Yes, please." Neville placed his cup back on the table to be filled.

Neville was used to being noticed on the street, he was used to being known as The Boy Who Lived, but what he wasn't used to was not living in the muggle world and going to a school where they grew up hearing his name. If Neville could do it all over again, he would more than gladly have his parents here or be dead with them, not that he ever told his Grandmother that. His Grandmother was his mother and father figure and every day he wondered what it would be like if only his mother and father were here.

He heard all about them, of course. How the great Frank and Alice Longbottom were in the Order of the Phoenix who fought against the Dark Lord. The stories were great, how they fought alongside some of the greatest and most bravest of wizards there ever were. Until their death.

Lord Voldemort were the reason that they had no choice but to hide, and then when he found out their exact location, he came in to their quiet home. His only intention being to kill Neville but his mother and father wouldn't hear of it. He heard how his father sent his mother into his room to protect their son. He heard how he died, fighting Lord Voldemort, to protect his family. He heard how Lord Voldemort than blasted away the door to get to the boy and his mother. He heard how his mother stood there and died to protect him. He heard how Lord Voldemort tried to kill him, Neville Longbottom, but was unsuccessful for some reason that no one knew for certain.

Neville was quiet for a long time, deep in thought. His Grandmother began to worry, "Neville, you are not still thinking about the Prophet, are you? It's a load of rubbish, you know that most of all."

He did know that, very well. Whenever he was confronted by Rita Skeeter on more than one occasion, his Gran told her more than to bugger off, she told her just where to go. They didn't put that in the paper. They also didn't put how he grew up, being famous, because of his parents death . . . how everyone was heard to be celebrating in the streets while his parents were dead and himself an orphan. No, they only found it fitting to show the good sides of themselves and of the horrible community he has seen. The community that know how his parent's died but could careless as long as the Dark Lord won't come back.

"Now, Neville." Augusta Longbottom, his Gran, began to speak. "Tomorrow you have to catch your train to Hogwarts. I want everything packed up and ready so that way we can be on platform 9 ¾ on time. I remember when it was your father's first year at Hogwarts, how he almost missed his train! I don't want you to be as careless as he was, that's for sure."

The thought of his Grandmother being angry at his father for almost missing the train to school made Neville smile. He could almost picture it. "Of course, Gran. I'm already packed."

"Well, of course you are. I imagine you are excited to get to Hogwarts at last." His Gran chuckled and took the tea cups out to the kitchen.

If only she knew how much Neville did not want to go to Hogwarts. How the very thought terrified him to no end. What if they all didn't like him because he was famous? What if they all resented him? What if they made fun of him and his parent's? He didn't think he could handle that. Or . . . what if they all liked him because he was famous. What if they only wanted to be his friend for fame? He would never be able to tell who his true friends were.

"C'mon, Neville. You have to get to bed, dear. I expect you'll be rising fairly early tomorrow morning." Gran walked back out of the room and the stairs creaked under her foot steps.

Tomorrow would either make or break Neville's career as a wizard at Hogwarts.

/br

"Remember dear, your mother and father would be so proud of you! Don't let anyone discourage you and stand up to anyone that gives you a hard time." She winked at him, then straightened herself up. "Have a good time at school, dear. I would expect that you would write to me often." She eyed him.

"Of course, Gran. Good-bye!" Neville waved enthusiastically as he hopped on the train. The train began to whistle and drive away. And the last thing he saw of his Grandmother was her of her tall, bony, figure. Wearing her favorite hat with a stuff vulture on top and carrying her favorite red handbag. She looked like she was talking to two other parent's. One was wearing glasses right below his untidy dark hair and the other one was slightly smaller with red hair. He wondered for a short time who they were.

He turned around and decided he should find a place to sit. As he passed all the compartments, they seemed to be full. Then he noticed an empty one, at the very end. He walked in there, closing the doors behind him. All the whispering he had to endure already was enough to make him mad, and he was only on the train to Hogwarts.

Neville stared out the window, absentmindedly touching the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. He was told that was a mark of a very dark magic that could only be caused by a very dark curse. That scar was proof that he survived the Killing Curse. It was proof that his parent's were dead. His Gran always called it a battle scar, something to be proud of, but he only thought of horrible things when he looked at the scar in the mirror.

He heard the compartment door slide open, he didn't turn to look at the intruder. He waited for them to speak. "Do you mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is full."

Without looking away from the window, Neville nodded and replied, "Sure."

The kid who spoke sat opposite of him, Neville finally looked at him. He had bright red hair, bright blue eyes, and a pale complexion. He figured out the he was a Weasley before he introduced himself.

"I'm Ron Weasley, and you are?" He seemed eager, yet awkward.

"I'm Neville. Neville Longbottom." He knew as soon as he said his name that he was going to be asked about his scar.

"Are you, are you really?" Ron's mouth dropped open in shock. "So, is it true, then? That you have the –"

"Scar, yes." Neville moved his bangs out of the way, revealing his scar that he tried so desperately to hide by growing out his hair.

"Bloody hell." Ron must have heard all about Neville. But at that moment a girl opened the compartment door.

"Excuse me. But I heard that Neville Longbottom was in this compartment and I just had to see for myself." A buck-tooth, bushy haired girl plopped down next to Ron. "I'm Hermione Granger by the way. I read all about you, of course. I did a bit of research as soon as I found out that I was a witch. It was a bit of a shock to both my parent's, who happen to be dentists." She turned to Ron, as if just noticing him for the first time. "And you are?"

"Ron Weasley." He said with his mouthful of sandwich that he pulled out of his coat pocket.

"Charming." She grimaced. "I've also did a bit of research about the houses we can be sorted in. I don't believe Ravenclaw would be that bad, or Gryffindor for that matter. I just hope I'm not in Slytherin." She grimaced even further. She shook her head, and changed the subject. "You guys might want to put your robes on, I expect we'll be arriving soon." She got up to leave, back the way she came.

"She's mental, that one. Whatever house she is in, I hope I'm not." Ron frowned at the door.

"What house do you want to be in?" Neville asked, trying to make conversation.

"I expect I'll be in Gryffindor. My whole family has been sorted there. What about you?" Ron asked.

"Gryffindor. My Mum and Dad were in Gryffindor." Neville looked at the floor, sadly. The silence that followed was awkward but wasn't long because the train was coming up to a stop. They were nearly there. They were almost in Hogwarts.

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They were escorted into the great hall at last. Neville stared up at the bewitched ceiling in fascination. He would probably be more nervous if it weren't for the fact that everything seemed so amazing. They were in line to get callled up to be sorted into their houses by the sorting hat.

"Granger, Hermione." Professor McGonagall, who Neville remembered her being the Transfiguration teacher, called out from a roll of parchment.

The small, brown bushy-haired, and buck-tooth girl walked, shaking up to the stool. She sat down, and the hat was placed on her head. As soon as the hat was placed on her head, it came to life.

"Yes. Difficult. Not a bad mind, a bit of courage and loyalty. Yes, yes . . . Let it be . . . GRYFFINDOR!" Hermione, finally being placed, skipped down to the Gryffindor table that was applauding their new arrival.

A boy beside him stated loud enough for several people to hear but no teachers, "This school has really gone to the dogs. Let filth like that mudblood in here." Neville knew that that was a horrible name to call someone that was Muggle-Born and he knew from the conversation that Hermione had with him and Ron on the train that she was indeed, Muggle Born.

The boy continued talking, but this time, to Neville. "I know I'm going to be in Slytherin. My family has all been through here and sorted the same. My father says it's a crime if I'm not picked for my House Quidditch team, as well. Can't say I could argue with him there." He paused. "You know, I hope you're in Slytherin too, you're pure-blood, aren't you?" Neville nodded curtly. His Gram always told him that blood status did not mean anything, it's what you did with your abilities that counted. "Then you might be in Slytherin. What House was your parent's sorted in?"

"Gryffindor." Neville said, proudly. He knew Gryffindor was the House for the brave at heart. His parent's were the bravest people Neville knew. Well, if he could remember them, that is. His parent's did not only die to protect their only son, but they were in a group called the Order of the Phoenix who were a group of people in charge of going against Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Many were killed, or worse, tortured into insanity, but his parent's were one of the bravest people that could have lived to him.

Draco scoffed, "Well, that doesn't mean that's where you'll be going. You really need to associate yourself with the right sort of witches and wizards and I can help you there." Draco looked over at Neville. Neville became increasinly angrier.

"I can tell the right sort for myself, thanks." It was almost time for him to be called up to be sorted so he wouldn't have to listen to Draco ramble on for much longer. Draco narrowed his eyes and puffed out his chest. Neville could tell he was about to make a retort but then...

"Longbottom, Neville!" Professer McGonagall's voice did not faulter upon saying his name but the impact of his name made the whole of the Great Hall go silent. It was silent as Neville made his way onto the stool, he sat down, facing the crowd of Hogwarts' students, who he could see quite clearly craning their necks to get a better view of the Boy-Who-Lived.

The Sorting Hat was placed on his head and it sprang to life, whispering in Neville's ear. "Yes, yes. I see loyalty in you, not a bad mind either, I see a great amount of courage, even a thirst to prove yourself... But where shall I put you?"

_Not Slytherin, not Slytherin, _Neville kept repeating over and over again in his head.

"Not Slytherin? Are you sure? You could do great things and Slytherin can help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that." The hat paused. "Well, if you're sure... Better be... GRYFFINDOR!"

The hat exploded and you would have thought that the Great Hall did too with the amount of applauding that the Gryffindor table was doing. Neville smiled and walked down to the table, as he sat his peers clapped him on the back, making him feel welcomed.

Neville heard others being called after himself but he was too pleased to pay attention until he heard one name in particular and saw that one person move up to the stool.

"Malfoy, Draco!" Professor McGonagall called after several people have already been sorted. The same small boy with a pointed face and bright blond, sleek hair that Neville was talking to earlier, emerged from the crowd of his fellow first years with an air of confidence that everyone else seemed to be lacking as they rose up to the stool.

He turned around and sat on the wooden stool with a smirk on his face while Professor McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on top of his head. The hat barely touched his head before it yelled out, "SLYTHERIN!"

_Well, _Neville thought sarcastically, _at least Draco got what he wanted._ Draco made his way to the Slytherin table two tables down and sat down with a grin on his face. He looked over at Neville and gave a smirk, like he was superior to Neville because Neville was sorted into Gryffindor.

_No matter what happens here in Hogwarts. I cannot let myself ever be friendly toward Draco Malfoy._

_-_**I hope you liked it! This is my first ever fan fiction but not my first ever story. So let me know what you think!**-


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